


Chasms Between the Lines

by Virtuella



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock-centric, Sherlolly - Freeform, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: Sherlock Holmes must tread carefully around Molly Hooper, because time and time again, a chasm opens up under his feet.





	1. Unsettling Observations

**Author's Note:**

> The intention is to have one chapter for each episode.  
> Usual disclaimers apply.

“Black, two sugars.”

_How did she know I was craving coffee? Lucky guess or rudimentary deduction skills of her own? (Don’t be an arse, Sherlock, rudimentary has nothing to do with it; you know very well that she is clever.) She really is such a tolerable woman, and quite accommodating, too. Did I say tolerable? It’s true, I find so many people intolerable, but in the grand scheme of things, I have to admit she is the one who does the tolerating. Does she find me tolerable?  She does, doesn’t she? Good Lord, the lipstick, she put it on for me! And she wasn’t offering to make coffee; she was asking me to go out for coffee with her, and I can just about imagine that to be tolerable, too, because we could talk shop – talk morgue – and make morbid jokes and there is an unsettling possibility that I might enjoy that. Ridiculous. Whatever are you thinking, Molly Hooper?_

“I’ll be upstairs.”

oOoOo

“Your mouth is too…”

_…exposed. Too naked, too vulnerable. Make-up is a form of armour, and you should avail yourself of whatever protection you can lay your hands on, Molly Hooper, because a creature as soft and yielding as you are is on track for a bruising in this rough and tumble world. You should slap on the lipstick and the brown goo other women smear on their faces and hide your too-expressive eyes behind false lashes instead of being so utterly…utterly **you** ; I’ve had to turn my back on that for fear that my mere gaze could somehow injure you; you are too defenceless, Molly, too kind; you are such a tiny woman, like a minnow in a shark tank, what if I am the shark, and your mouth is too sensitive, too inviting, too…_

“…small now.”


	2. Too Sweet for the Morgue

“What are you thinking?”

_What **are** you thinking? What is going on in the head of a woman like you? There can’t be many girls who choose a career of slicing up cadavers, and you’d expect those who do to be different: cold and robotic or, alternatively, eccentric Goths. Not so – my god, I’m going to have to use that dreadful word here – not so **sweet**. How did you end up in the morgue? Did you cut up your dolls with nail scissors when you were a little girl? Did you enjoy vivisection in biology class when all the other girls were going green in the face? When you go out and meet people and they ask you what you do for a living, does anyone actually believe it when you reply, post-mortems? You must have sat on a bus this morning with a hairdo which for lack of a better word I will have to call cute; and if you’d have asked the other passengers to have a guess, they’d have said nursery teacher or florist, something gentle and everyday; nobody would think that you crack open rib cages and treat dead bodies as so much meat._

“Pork or the pasta?”

oOoOo

“We’re just interested in the feet.”

_I wear a size 11. What’s your shoes size, Molly? A 3, a 2-and-a-half even? I’d say 2-and-a-half. How can you go through the world on such tiny feet? How can you stand on them all day? You’re like one of those Chinese ladies of old with their Lotus feet –  blast it, that’s what I’m actually here for, I’m on a case looking for the Lotus tattoos of a Chinese crime syndicate and I’m getting distracted thinking about Molly Hooper’s tiny feet. Why do I keep remembering her feet and her hair styles and her lipstick and all these little details about her that I should delete the moment she’s out of sight; why do they clutter up my mind instead? I have to look at the feet of these two murder victims, and they are likely to be large and calloused, not dainty like yours, dear lord, I really have to stop this._

“The feet?”


	3. Spoiled Rotten

 

“What do you mean, gay? We’re together!”

_I don’t even care, Molly, whether he is gay pretending to be straight or straight pretending to be gay or what damnable reason he could have for either, I will simply not allow you to associate with such a sleazy individual. You are an integral part of my work and I cannot …_

“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly, you’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.”

“Two-and-a-half.”

“No, three.”

_… let my work be compromised; the very notion that your integrity could be sullied by this grubby little worm is completely unacceptable and…_

“He’s not gay! He’s not! Why do you have to spoil – He’s not!”

_…I will spoil all I like and decude the hell out of him, just watch me, the eyebrows, the underwear; how in all the world could you be attracted to such a slimy rat who doesn’t even dress fully for work, how can you be more excited about your wretched “date” with him than about analysing my sample, look, he left me his number, because he fancies me, heaven help us, so you’d…_

“…better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”

_Where are you going, Molly? Aren’t you going to thank me for saving you from such a wholly unsuitable romantic entanglement? Instead of going on lots of “dates” and then finding out the truth, you can ditch him right now and focus on what really matters, so why are you running off like that; one might almost think you were angry with me._

“Charming, well done.”

_You’re not helping, John._

oOoOo

“I’ll burn the heart out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

_He cannot know. He cannot possibly know. No, he knows. He got John; he knew about John. Who else? Mycroft? My parents?  No, Molly. Oh my god, Molly. What did he see on my face when she called him her office romance? Nonsense, he saw nothing, because there was nothing to see. I have nothing to hide with regard to Molly. She is…she is a friend of sorts, I suppose, and all these little obsessions about her hair and her mouth and her feet are some slight malfunctions of my brain which I will repair soon. Plot all you like, Moriarty, I can assure you I do not have a soft spot in my heart for Molly Hooper._

“But we both know that’s not quite true.”


	4. Give and Take

I cannot possibly use such a clichéd expression as wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me, but a little gas explosion would be most convenient right now.

“I am sorry.”

_I can count on one hand, not that I need my fingers for counting, the people in this city whom I trust: John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Molly. It’s a small band, but it covers all bases, so to speak. I have been satisfied and now I am dissatisfied, because Molly Hooper has only gone and fallen in love with me. Good Lord, what have I done to deserve that? Whatever business does she have, kind and decent woman that she is, to fall in love with me, the heartless bastard and arsehole extraordinaire?  Away you go, Molly Hooper, and fall in love with some kind and decent man, and don’t make things complicated for me. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Where **would** I begin? If you call me dearest Sherlock, should I think of you as dearest Molly now? Am I responsible for you in any way; am I under an obligation of any kind? For god’s sake, Molly, go back into your box, go back to being accommodating and reliable and competent, but don’t give me affections that are surplus to requirement and liable to end in tears, because I would only ever fall short, disappoint, fail to meet the standard, and worse, be cruel. Look what I’ve done, just now, callous, careless; it’s the only way I know to be._

“Forgive me.”

_You have given me coffee and cheerful greetings and steadfast help when others wouldn’t give me the time of day. You have given me patience and tolerance and silence to work in. You have given me tender words and a gift wrapped with care and affections and a piece of your heart that I don’t know how to keep safe. Now I have asked you to give me even more, to give me forgiveness for my selfish malice, absolution for my spite. Really, instead of asking you for more, I ought to give you something, and it just so happens that I have already decided what I’ll give you._

“Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

But it is a lie, because as my lips brush your cheek, I am still the one who is taking.

 

oOoOo

“You…”

_…are in love with me. You are in love with me. What on Earth am I going to do about this?_

“…didn’t need to come in, Molly.”

 

oOoOo

“Your girlfriend?”

_Remember your vow, Sherlock: Be nice to Molly. She’s just made a completely idiotic comment, but you will not, repeat NOT crush her for it. You will cut her some slack, you will give her the benefit of the doubt that there is some sense in what she is saying, and even if there isn’t you will give her a modicum of respect. So you won’t point out what a ridiculous term “girlfriend” is for the romantic partner of a man in his thirties, you will not haughtily point out that you’ve never had and never will have a girlfriend, you will not use air quotes, you will not say anything mean, you will find something tame and neutral to say._

“You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m x-raying her possessions?”

“Well, we all do silly things.”

“Yes.”

_And now you, Molly, have just given me an idea._


	5. Hounded

 

“The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you.”

_And I know what I’m talking about here, because I too have a girl who fancies me, though mine gave me something way better than a phone number on a paper napkin._

“Though you were initially keen, you’ve now changed you mind.”

_Will she change hers? (Will I change mine?)_

 

oOoOo

 

“I don’t take sugar.”

_And I don’t take any pleasure in drugging my only friend, but that’s the disadvantage of being out in the sticks here; no access to a decent lab. If we were in London and I could go to Bart’s and Molly –  If I were at home I could run some test in the kitchen and then I could text Molly –  Actually just send the sample over and Molly would –  Is there no getting away from that darned woman? Just because she’s in love with me is no reason for **me** to think about **her** so much. Am I thinking about her so much? Dear Lord, I am._

“That’s nice; it’s good.”

oOoOo

 

“Sentiment?”

_They felt affection for a savage dog? One they could barely control? Even without the effect of the drug it was an ugly mutt. So if people feel affection for an ugly, savage creature like that, then it seems reasonable that a kind, clever, competent and infinitely helpful person should be regarded with a certain amount of…_

“Sentiment.”


	6. Needy

“What do you need?”

_What don’t I need? I need a string of favours from you, Molly, each of which will seriously compromise your professional integrity, and yet that’s only the beginning. I need so much more. I need courage. I need certainty. Certainty that I am good and right and worthy of rescue; and since I have not a scrap of certainty now; since I am drowning in doubt (and I’m not used to that, Molly, God knows I’m not), I need you to lend me your certainty. Do you have faith in me Molly? Not in my abilities – they are fripperies and I know it – but in my goodness? The clever stuff, the dazzling memory: that all comes to me as easily as breathing and I do feel like a fraud when people admire me for something I have through no merit of my own. My goodness I have to choose every day afresh. But most people don’t even see it. They see that I’m rude and arrogant and that makes me bad in their eyes. Not in yours, though, Molly? You love me; you think you love me, but who do you love? Is it the brilliant detective, the genius who swaggers in and solves people’s mysteries in the blink of an eye? Or is it the man who tries hard, so hard, to wrestle some goodness from what nature has dealt him, both gifts and curses?_

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?”

_Now it will come out. She will hesitate; she will falter. She will not care for the man who is less than she thought he was. She wants her hero. How could she care for me, weak, without glamour; she won’t want me like this; she won’t help. And I am lost without her trust in me. I am lost without her love._

“What do you need?”

_But it is a miracle after all. What do I need? This. This unfaltering devotion, this faith in me, this unquestioning regard. It’s the one thing Moriarty doesn’t have. She ended it with him. She isn’t his. She is here, for me; she is mine. What do I need?”_

“You.”


	7. Things Go Awry

“You wanted to see me?”

Molly, in screaming pink scarf and gloves, stands by the door cute as ever.

“Yes! Molly? Would you…”

_Would you like to be my girlfriend? No, childish, and I’ve said I’d never have one anyway. We’re not at high school. Would you let me touch your hair? It looks so shiny. No, creepy. Would you tell me why you thought you didn’t count? No, bad memories. Would you kiss me? No, need to Google that first. Would you like to have dinner? No, for heaven’s sake, she’s not the bloody Woman. Oh god, I should have planned this better. Whatever made me think everything would just fall into place the minute she walked through the door? How does John always do it? Molly, would you please just fall into my arms as I have this uncanny feeling that that’s where we both belong? Would you forget all the mean things I’ve ever said to you and all the stupid things I’ve done and let us have a fresh start? But I don’t want to remind her of the mean and stupid things. Molly, would you like to…would you…_

“…like to solve crimes?”

Why didn’t I prepare? And why, oh, why, do women always want to have dinner?

oOoOo

 

“And you really thought he was the one, didn’t you?” I say to the client. “The love of your life.” As soon as I speak those words, my eyes drift over to Molly.

_Can’t tell her that, can I? Not all at once anyway. I’ll have to build up to it slowly, just like I had to build up slowly to admitting it to myself. Today will be the start. It’s not such a bad start after all, in spite of my deplorable lack of planning. We’ll spend the day having adventures together – much better than all this dinner nonsense. Though maybe chips later? I won’t be caught on the back foot again; I have a list to go through now; didn’t take me long to come up with. One per week seems about right: It was nice to see you, Molly. – I’ve missed you. – I hope we can spend more time together from now on. – If I believed in such nonsense as guardian angels, I would say you are mine. – You mean a lot to me. – You really matter. – You are the lo-_

She’s looking my way. I get up swiftly, whisper to her, “Stepfather posing as online boyfriend.” There, covered my tracks.

Wait, didn’t I _want_ her to know this?

 

oOoOo

 

“Trains?” suggests Molly in that hesitant voice of hers. And I look at her hand holding the notebook.

_Duh, Molly, yes, trains. Full marks for stating the obvious. We’re virtually right under the Bakerloo Line. It beats me how the map of the London Underground is one of the most instantly recognisable maps in the world, but the people who live in this city are so totally unable to relate it to the above-ground topology of London. Didn’t you see where Lestrade took us into the building? Didn’t you make at least a rough calculation about the direction and distance of the corridors and stairs? Pathetic! And even if we had been unsure about our position, which we are not, the proximity of trains in any location in Central London is hardly a very useful hint, and furthermore it can have no bearing on the case whatsoever, so mentioning it is just a tedious waste of time. In future, please ensure that not every flicker that crosses your synapses finds its way out of your mouth. Don’t be a moron, Molly…_

_…Molly. Molly who stands with her bright eyes fixed on me, eager to help as always, the notebook at the ready in her slender hand, and on her finger a ring that I have only just noticed. I feel a burning need to crush something, someone, but not Molly, never again, two years without a word from me, what the hell did I expect?_

“Trains,” I confirm.

oOoOo

“My girlfriend’s a big fan of yours.”

“Girlfriend!”

_I’m such an idiot. Going on to Mycroft about isolation, because anyone wearing a hat like that would be isolated. I’m the one with the silly hat! I’m the one without a girlfriend. Mycroft won the game of deduction again, but how did I – oh god, Molly is giving me the dagger looks. She thinks I am an insensitive bastard who implies that this amiable young man could never have a girlfriend. Admittedly this is the kind of bastardly insensitive thing I habitually say, and what I implied to Mycroft, but I’ve revised my opinion since. Why should the nerdy types not have girlfriends? Nerdy boys go out with nerdy girls, obviously. They’re friendly and domestic, of course they like each other. But now Molly thinks I’m prejudiced and arrogant, which is generally speaking true but not right now in this specific context. She doesn’t know about the contest with Mycroft; she just thinks I’m rude. Worse, she’ll think if I’m making fun of this man’s knitwear, I’ll make fun of hers as well. Your goofy jumper is cute, Molly. But I can’t explain any of this right now; I can only fudge it, so:_

“Sorry. Do go on.”

oOoOo

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper.”

_With me! You were supposed to be happy with me! I am the knight who has returned victorious from his quest, surely I get the fair maiden now? Isn’t that how the story goes?_

_But the fair maiden has other ideas. Of course she has. She has found her knight in shining armour and I am not he; ludicrous even to think I could be he.  She doesn’t want to put up with a sociopath, however high-functioning. She doesn’t need an arsehole like me in her life. I have insulted her, ignored her, neglected her, exploited her good nature; who the hell do I think I am that she would want me? Once upon a time, maybe, she had a little soft spot for me, but I put a stop to that good and proper, didn’t I? She called me dearest Sherlock and I derided her so badly I may as well have punched her in the face. I demanded everything and gave nothing, and then I left and never let her know that I thought of her every bloody day of those bloody two years. How deluded was I to think she’d still hold me dear? I’m not her knight in shining armour; I’m the troll under the bridge._

“You deserve it.”

And the kiss I breathe on her cheek is not at all the kiss I was planning to give her today.

oOoOo

I adjust my coat and walk away.

_Come on, Molly. Chips! Just because you’re engaged doesn’t mean you can’t have chips with me, surely? Is you fiancé such a jealous git? Will he not let me have the tiniest scrap of Molly in my life? You can’t marry him, Molly. Whoever he is, you can’t. Don’t you see it? Of course you will see it. Any second now, you will come running after me and tell me that you’ll send that man packing. I bet he is nice and normal and everything I am not; is that what you want? How can it be what you want, since you are no more ordinary than I am? You just told me you had a lovely day looking at skeletons! He’ll bore you to tears, your nice Mr Normal. Why are you not running after me, Molly, can’t you read my mind? How could you supplant me; wasn’t I always first with you or did I just imagine that? I was away ridding the world of a cancer and this fellow just waltzes in and scoops up my Molly; how is that fair? What makes him think he deserves her when I’ve worked so hard? Molly, you’ll forgive my thoughtless slip-ups, because you’ll see my heart, the way you always see me. You’ll come running now, Molly, won’t you? Right now._

And I keep on walking.


	8. So Many Levels of Wrong

“A meat dagger?”

_Is that all you can think of, Mr Having-Quite-a-Lot-of-Sex-With-Molly? Is this the full extent of your intellectual prowess? Or do you believe you don’t need intellectual prowess, because you have the other kind?_

_Molly, how, **how** can you stand this man? Don’t think I can’t see how uncomfortable you look, how utterly embarrassed. He’s mortified you in front of the whole wedding party; you can practically see them thinking “meat dagger” to themselves and smirking inwardly. He has insulted your honour! Should I jump over the table and punch him in the face for you? Would you receive such a gesture in the spirit in which it was offered?_

_You, Tom, Dick or Harry or whatever your name is, how can you stand there like that, completely oblivious to all of this? How can you be so devoid of self-awareness? How on all the Earth did you have the nerve to ask Molly – **Molly!** – to marry you? Do you seriously think you’re the right man for her?_

“Yes.”

“No.”


	9. Can't Say That

“Say you’re sorry.”

 _I can’t. I can’t say that. Not to you, not anymore. Because there is just too much; we’d be here all day. I’m sorry you have to see me like this; I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I’m sorry for all the other times. I’m sorry I played you and messed with your feelings and took advantage; I’m sorry I pegged you as nice but harmless when I simply hadn’t seen yet what you’re capable of; I’m **still**_ _sorry for that wretched Christmas party; I’m sorry I pushed you away and never let you know it was for your own protection; I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to find a way to keep in touch; I’m sorry for the crappy way in which I tried to say thank you; I’m sorry I demanded so much and gave so little back. I’m sorry I disappointed; I’m sorry I was complacent; I’m sorry I didn’t throw myself at your tiny feet but let you carry on with that man as if I didn’t know it had to fall apart; I’m sorry I never danced with you at John and Mary’s wedding; I’m sorry you had to watch me flirt with Janine and that you may hear more to distress you on that count before this is over; I’m sorry that you can’t help loving me and that I can’t help hiding my love from you; I’m sorry for all the times I turned away and I’m already sorry for what I am about to say now._

“Sorry your engagement’s over. Though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.”


	10. The Writing on the Wall

“Who needs me now?”

“England.”

_That’s not very specific._ Remember. _Remember what? There is a war raging. It’s all in my mind._ Do not forget me. _A war,_ a war we must lose, _I must lose. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, so how can I lose, as all sentiment is abhorrent to me?_ Do not forget me. _And who are you? I know you, of course I do. I see you, I see through your ludicrous disguise. The bride. You are no ghost,_ you are flesh and blood _, I am flesh and blood,_ there are no ghosts in this world, _and you are a living, breathing, feeling human being whom I have_ ignored, patronised, disparaged, _whom I have taken for granted, to whom I owe my life and more than my life,_ and my reckoning is long overdue. _Something is bound to happen, and I must awaken from this lurid fantasy, you, **you** will snap me out of this, I can practically feel your slap in my face, but no, that’s wrong, I have been the slap in your face; am I still not awake? This has all happened before, the precipice, the fall. You. The woman I have…the woman I…the woman who sees me…the woman who counts. _ Did you make a list? _Of course I made a list. I lied to her. Betrayed her, ignored her disparaged her. The list is so long and my reckoning is due and it will be such a reckoning. He said he’d burn the heart out of me and_ this is the heart of the conspiracy. _Why would I need to be alone; I am never alone, I have you_ hovering at my elbow _. You asked me once what I needed and I said, You. My heart, the heart of my conspiracy against myself, my final problem._ Do not forget me. _I do not forget you. Lied to you, betrayed you, disparaged you, never forgot you._

_Who needs me now? – You._


	11. Deep-rooted Words

“Rosamund?”

“It means _Rose of the World_. Rosie for short.”

_Do you know Latin, Molly, or did you just look that up on the internet? Molly. Mollis (m), molle (f), molle (n): soft. That’s a false etymology, though, because Molly is derived from Margaret or Mary, and neither of them have Latin roots. The connection with all things soft and tender is only in my mind._

“The danger was the fun part, but you can’t outrun that forever.”

_Outrun it? Seems I’m always running towards it, and it’s something else entirely that I’m running from. You saw that Mary, didn’t you? I was, I am afraid of too much molle (f) in my life. Amongst other things, it would give ammunition to my enemies._

Ammo. Ammo?

_Amo. Latin for “I love,” and while grammatically that is a valid sentence, semantically it craves an object. Whom? Whom do I love? Why am I even asking this; it doesn’t apply to me and it is irrelevant to the case._

“He said he’d rather have anyone but you.”

_When does the path we walk on lock around our feet? Why did he choose you of all people as his messenger? I can see why he wants to be cruel to me, but why to you?  And yet. What if it had been you, lying dead in your blood? Mary nearly killed me and then she gave her life for me. You wouldn’t do one, would you do the other? Amas. You love. But whom do you love?_

“…anyone but you.”


	12. Someday

“You’re dying.”

_Everyone’s dying, it’s only a question of when. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s think about life before death. There’s something I need to tell you, but not today. But I will have to tell you someday. And I will, Molly, I will. Make things right with Molly; it’s on my to-do list. Make things **good** with Molly. I tried it before, but there was that confounded ring. That’s out of the way now, but other things have come up. First I have to make things right with John. I owe him. I owe you, too, Molly, but you’re a more generous creditor…_

_I’ll speak to you later, Molly._

“Say that for me. Say it.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“And again.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Once more for luck.”

_Luck? What’s luck got to do with it? I don’t deserve death. I don’t deserve the easy way out. I owe too much. Must save John Watson. Must save John Watson. I’m not allowed to die. And I don’t want to. Because life… because it could be good. Could be better. Someday. Someday I’ll tell Molly. She’ll be so glad. We can have a life together. Life. Once it’s over it’s not you who’ll miss it. I mustn’t die. Can’t do that to her. Can’t do that to anyone, not again._

“I don’t want to die.”


	13. The Abyss

“Why?”

_Why can you not say it? It’s not exactly a secret, is it? Molly Hooper, with her too-expressive eyes and overly sensitive mouth, has always worn her heart on her sleeve, has never been squeamish about exposing her feelings. Molly, how can you possibly be afraid of using that word for me? You wrote it on a card years and years ago, with three kisses; I can prove it to you, because I still have it, so why…?_

_…unless it’s no longer true. Unless the constant barrage of disappointments has finally brought down the fortress of Molly Hooper’s love for me. You look so tired, Molly, so worn out, is this my doing? I have been sorry, but not sorry enough. I have cared for you, but not enough. The tender moments were too few and far between. I’ve wanted to give you what you craved, but never now, always someday, always after this case was finished or that, and with my wretched procrastination, I have squandered the greatest asset I ever had. Ever so selfish, ever so complacent, I have taken and taken and taken until it was all used up._

_…unless it’s never been true. It was never more than a school girl’s crush. The real trial is not about these three minutes for getting you to say it, it’s the years and years I had to get you to do it. You made it easy for me to begin with and I could have built on that. I could have nourished that tender sprout into a strong plant, but instead I trampled on it with my enormous feet. So when you are insisting that you can’t say it to me, it’s simply because you’re an honest girl and it’s just not true and never has been._

_Never mind that now. We’re not here to be honest, we’re just here to save your life. Humans die, we all die, but for you to die now, in this way, because I failed to win your love or to keep your love, would be beyond bearable. You mustn’t die now, Molly, it’s just words, so say it, why can’t you say it, why, why?_

“Because it’s true.”

oOoOo

 

“Sherlock.”

My hand runs over the coffin lid.

_There was a right solution to the problem. The one and only right solution, and I missed it: Molly, I have something important to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago. I tried to, a couple of times, but it went wrong, and I absolutely must tell you now and you absolutely must believe me, because it’s true. I know I have been an arse, but I’m not lying to you, so please believe it. I love you. It’s hard for me to tell you this, but I swear it’s true._

_Would she have said it back? Of course she would. And she would be glad now, and I would only have to work out how to survive Eurus’s Armageddon so we could both be glad together afterwards, but now what’s the point in anything? I have lost, lost, lost, because at this crucial moment the great genius Sherlock Holmes utterly, utterly failed. When there was only one right way - to give myself to Molly, finally, as I had always intended to do someday - I fell back into my longstanding habit of taking, taking, taking. Demanding that she should surrender her heart. If only I had surrendered mine, she would have given hers freely. Instead I invaded her. I broke into her heart like a burglar and in doing so destroyed the very thing I was seeking to gain. She loved me once. Can she still love me now?_

“No.” And my fist strikes the flimsy wood.

**Author's Note:**

> For obvious reasons, this story has no happy ending, but if that’s what you’re craving, you may want to follow-up with my earlier story “Kairos,” which is a reasonably good fit.


End file.
